Eye of a Needle
by Starherd
Summary: Time Machine 2002 fic. Excerpts from Alexander's journal after the events of the film, concerning a small mystery. Um... Let's see... bit of Romance, bit of Mystery, lots of Anthropology, and by gum, there's Action too! movie, rather than Wells book
1. Part I: Until the Celebration

Eye of a Needle  
(Excerpts from the journal of Alexander Hartdegen)  
  
Part I: Until the Celebration  
  
  
July 23rd, 802,701  
Beloved Emma,  
  
As I settle in to this new world, I've decided to keep a journal of sorts.  
You know that I'm not much one for documentation - one of the other  
professors' complaints about me - so I will write for you, rather than for  
myself. This, then, will be my monument to you, much as the Eloi build their  
monuments to those lost to them.  
  
It has taken some time to convince the Eloi of this new use for the paper-  
like material that they use as the outer walls of their lodgings, but I have  
finally procured these small sheets for my use. I pray that this berry-juice  
that I use as ink will not fade too quickly - though the Photonic, who reads  
over my shoulder, seems to think that it will serve.  
  
I will begin with an account of how I came to dwell in this place...  
  
  
July 27th, 802,701  
Dearest Emma,  
  
It appears that I finished my account not a moment too soon. This morning,  
Mara and Kalen took me home - that is, to the space where my house once stood.  
Seeing the unspoilt forest that was once my humble garden was quite...  
uplifting.  
  
As we returned through the forest, we came upon a wounded girl lying in the  
shade of a large tree. She was covered head to toe in mud, apparently having  
tried to use the substance for warmth in the night. She's a gangly child,  
small-bodied, awkwardly built - she hasn't yet grown into her limbs (as one  
usually sees with boys, rather than girls).  
  
We think that she is an Eloi from some other colony, as the Morlock leader  
mentioned, who escaped their clutches when we destroyed the caverns. She  
must have wandered aimlessly in the woods for days. Mara is tending to her  
now, just as she did for me when I arrived. Another of the little Eloi, Girda,  
joked that Mara will bring home any stray animal she finds. It's good to know  
that in all this time, man's general sense of humor has not fallen. Kalen  
thought that the foundling girl might be another New Yorker, but I explained  
to him that that was unlikely. Particularly given her gauzy clothing, which  
appears to be quite similar to Mara's (and the others').  
  
Kalen is so enthusiastic; he's already proving to be a good student in  
mathematics. He's memorized the times tables up through twelve after only a few  
days. Vox (the Photonic) is quite pleased that I intend to teach the sciences  
to the Eloi children, and says that I'm giving him hope for humanity. I cannot  
tell if he is being sarcastic or not.  
  
I shall write more tomorrow, dear heart. The light is fading, and it is time  
to prepare dinner.  
  
With all my love,  
your Alexander  
  
  
July 28th, 802,701  
Cherished Emma,  
  
Today we gathered fruit and flowers in the forest above the river. Mara showed  
me a flower that, when stewed with the small silver "flit" fish from the river,  
produces a spiced flavor. She also introduced me to the bark of a tree that  
seems to be a substitute for coffee, and another like cinnamon, and a root that  
appears to be ginger - comfortingly un-evolved, unlike most everything else.  
  
Kalen stayed behind to look after the foundling girl, who still sleeps. Mara  
washed the mud from her last night, which revealed her skin to be quite pale.  
The girl must have been captive underground for quite a time, or perhaps is simply  
from some far Eloi village that is not so dark-skinned as that I have met - or  
both. She is miserably thin, such that one can count her ribs or vertebrae, and  
her hair is likewise thin and unhealthy, and still stained a reddish-brown from the  
mud. Though she is disproportioned as one just leaving childhood, she seems to be  
a young adult; I can only guess that malnourishment is to blame.  
  
She is covered in scars, as though she has led a life beneath a whip. When we  
washed the dirt from her hair, we found a strange series of scars - as from deep  
puncture marks - at the nape of her neck. Four on one side, and a fifth on the  
other, just where her neck and shoulders meet. She also seemed to be bruised above  
that, at her hairline. We handled the poor girl gently, and lay her back down on  
her side; I don't know what to make of the marks. Her clothing is ragged, and her  
skin itself is blistered all over, as though she barely escaped a great fire; I am  
saddened that that might be of my own doing, from when I destroyed the machine.  
  
Several of the Eloi have remarked on the sudden absence of the dream that has  
plagued them all their lives. I've told them that the Morlocks sent the dream,  
but I don't quite know that they understand. Perhaps the reality of being without  
those creatures' opposition is just now sinking in.  
  
I can only be thankful that you, my love, can never know of the atrocities visited  
upon these gentle people. For you, I will use all my knowledge to ensure that such  
things will never happen to them again, God willing.  
  
Love for all time,  
Alexander  
  
  
July 31st, 802,701  
Darling Emma,  
  
Today, the foundling girl opened her eyes. They are quite large, and a startling  
light blue. I think that she must be from some far northern land, where Scandinavian   
blood still prevails. Indeed, she doesn't seem to speak the Eloi language at all,  
and has yet to speak at all. Finally I asked her, in English, if she could understand  
me. She gave a hesitant nod, but seemed unable to answer. If her people hold dear and  
teach the children the Stone Language as my Eloi do, she has apparently forgotten much  
of that part of her childhood.  
  
With her own clothing so ragged, Mara offered her new clothing, but the girl has so  
far refused. She blinks frequently and tends to keep her face turned away from the  
light, and keeps the blankets pulled up over her head. Nor has she eaten any of the  
fruit she's been offered, though she did accept some water. I fear the shock of change  
has been too much for her, and I can't help but feel responsible, in part. I hope  
that she can adapt to this new freedom.  
  
Kalen taught me how to make a rope ladder today, as he promised back when I first  
arrived. We slung it down into the library ruins, so that there's a better way in  
until we can build a proper stairway. Once we do that, we intend to give Vox's Eloi  
friend (who still rests there) a decent burial. Unfortunately, along with all else  
I've been teaching them, I must also teach care for the dead - it's something that's  
never been dealt with, within their memory. I feel as though I am taking away some  
part of their innocence, but it is necessary.  
  
Forgive me for writing to you of such a morbid subject. I shall endeavor to find  
something more cheerful to tell you about tomorrow.  
  
With all my love,  
Alexander  
  
  
August 3rd, 802,701  
My Sweet Emma,  
  
Some of the Eloi are beginning to remark upon their dreams - good dreams, now.  
I think that perhaps all dreams but that horrid one that the Morlocks sent were  
repressed, before. One of the young men, Callo, told me that he flew in his sleep,  
and perched upon the stones in the sky (what remains of our poor moon) and looked  
down upon all the green world.   
  
It's quite rewarding to see imagination taking root in them so quickly.  
  
The foundling girl ventured outside for the first time today. The burns on her  
skin are healing, but she apparently can't bear the touch of sunlight on them.  
She came out to watch the Eloi pulling up their boats for the night at twilight,  
huddling on the platform outside our dwelling with her blanket wrapped around her.  
She sat with us to sup, and accepted the fish stew that Mara had made - the first  
food she's accepted. I'm glad; I was beginning to worry for her health. She fell  
upon it like a ravenous wolf, poor thing. The fruits of this land must be more  
strange to her than they are to me, for her to hold off for so long.  
  
She has always been more active in the evenings, perhaps because of the cool  
breeze that blows through the canyon then. Mara and I were surprised when she  
joined us on the dwelling's upper platform this evening, her blanket tucked about  
her as a dress. She sat and stared at the stars while Mara and I spoke, and would  
not be joined in the conversation at all. I am beginning to think that she may not  
be able to speak - we've never heard her utter a sound.  
  
As I write this, she sits across from me, meddling with some spare material that  
Mara offered her. She seems to have accepted the clothing this time, but she has  
not yet moved to dress herself - perhaps she thinks to wait until morning.  
  
I must to bed now. Mara said that we are to gather fruit again tomorrow.  
  
Yours Forever,  
Alexander  
  
  
August 7th, 802,701  
My Cherished Emma,  
  
All goes well. One of the Eloi children, a little girl named Weena, has begun to  
tell stories. She is not at all lying, but genuinely telling stories. Vox has told  
me that she's listened to every novel he's "read" aloud to them so far, and it seems  
to have had a profound effect on her. Today, she told me a story concerning why the  
Tula blossoms are red. In English, no less. The Eloi do have a spoken mythology, but  
according to Mara, this is something new.  
  
The foundling girl has announced her name. For the past few days she has been doing  
little but working raw fabric, as I have mentioned. Today she was waiting outside on  
the platform at sunset, and offered Mara a sort of tunic - rather like her nightdress,  
but shorter, meant to be worn as a shirt, I think. She had embroidered the edges with  
vines and flowers - It is truly a beautiful garment, quite unlike the utilitarian way  
that she wrapped herself with loose fabric to completely cover her body.  
  
When Mara thanked her, the girl indicated the needle she'd used in her embroidery,  
then gestured to herself. Mara asked in English what she meant by indicating the needle  
- but she used the Eloi word for the device. The girl shook her head, and looked to me.  
I could only ask, "What is it about the needle?"  
  
To which she echoed, in a quiet and vaguely rasping voice, "Needle," whilst gesturing  
to herself again. She can speak after all, but she has said not a word since.  
  
None of us know what her name may have been before, but she has taken Needle as her  
name for now.  
  
I shall write again of her progress tomorrow. It pleases me greatly that she is  
adapting so quickly now, as I still feel responsible for some of her injuries.  
  
With all my love,  
Alexander  
  
  
August 12th, 802,701  
My Darling Emma,  
  
We went fruit-gathering today, and we were surprised when Needle joined us.  
She wrapped herself with enough of Mara's gauzy material to make several  
nightshirts, and looked rather like an Egyptian mummy, but it was the first  
time I've seen her venture out during the daytime. She even shielded her face  
with a drape of the thin material.  
  
I observed that the other Eloi covertly studied her, but none of them have  
suggested that we throw her into the river, as they did with me. Perhaps it  
is because she simply seems so much more pitiful than I.  
  
When we arrived at the orchard-area, Kalen and some of the others went  
climbing the trees, as they have before. Needle scampered up after them, and  
brought down fruit from branches that they could not reach. Perhaps she is  
trying to impress upon the Eloi that she is useful, the better to be accepted.  
I did note, however, that she tried to keep to the shade.  
  
This evening, I noticed that Needle's fingers and toes - the only parts of her  
that were not wrapped in gauze - are red and irritated. Mara treated her with  
some of the salve that she used on the girl's burns. Perhaps she is allergic  
to some unfamiliar vine that she encountered up in the trees.  
  
Needle has not spoken since she gave herself her name. When I asked her if  
she knew of any plants that might be harmful to her, she only stared at me  
with her pale blue eyes, uncomprehending.  
  
I don't know if she truly understood me or not; sometimes I just don't know  
what to make of the girl.  
  
Love for all time,  
Alexander  
  
  
August 18th, 802,701  
Beloved Emma,  
  
The Eloi have decided to hold a gathering when the stones in the sky shine  
their brightest - the next full moon. They wish to discuss their dreams, which  
for the first time in their lives are all different. They have decided not  
only to hold this gathering outside of the village, in and around the stone-  
room where one of Vox's looking-glasses is set up, but also at night. This bold  
move tells me that they have truly accepted what has happened, but I pray that  
there are no beasts in these woods even half as frightful as Morlocks - else  
this might be their last brave foray into the dark.  
  
Needle has steadily become stronger, and now accompanies us during the day more  
and more often - though I sometimes catch her napping in the shade. In the  
evenings, she sits and sews or embroiders, and has become somewhat accepted  
among the Eloi as an artisan. She still eats little in the way of fruit,  
subsisting mostly on the fish that the Eloi catch in the river. She seems  
to like the water.  
  
Her fingers still grow red when she ventures out with us, though she now binds  
her toes, and doesn't climb so high in the trees. I have come to the conclusion  
that it is not an allergy at all that troubles her, but sunburn. She must have  
lived underground for longer than I originally suspected, to burn so easily - but  
she seems to be adjusting, albeit slowly.  
  
She has begun to talk a little more as well, particularly to the Photonic. She  
listens attentively to him, and he says that she sometimes asks him to repeat poems  
and stories. She seems to like the works of Edgar Allen Poe, though she has no  
frame of reference for most of his settings.  
  
Mara and Kalen, on the other hand, both seem to prefer some more recent author  
named C. S. Lewis. I've heard little Weena asking for mythology - I believe Vox  
started her on Greek, and has moved on to Norse. She frequently interrupts to ask  
him to explain various things, as they all do, but the Photonic is a patient  
teacher. I think that he's quite delighted to be so useful again.  
  
I miss sitting with you and reading those dear silly novels that you used to procure  
for us, sweet Emma. Perhaps rather than all this, I should have immortalized you in  
some fantastic lovelorn poem as Poe did his love... But I've no mind for prose or  
poesy. I can only try to guide these people to their future, and hope that a new  
civilization will suffice as well as a poem.  
  
Love,  
Alexander  
  
  
September 2nd, 802,701  
My Dearest Emma,  
  
Tonight is the night of the gathering. The Eloi are already surrounding the area  
with their translucent lanterns, and Vox seems excited to be about to hear so much  
new knowledge. A small bonfire is being built in the clearing, where the children  
and some of the greater members of the village will sit, while the rest of the Eloi  
will line the top of the amphitheater to listen. Mara says that I am to sit next to  
Vox in the clearing, and it makes my mouth dry to think of it; I feel just as flighty  
as I did before each class I lectured. I really wasn't much of a Professor, was I?  
  
The air is heavy with the flowered scent of waning Summer, and in the fields by  
the river, there are fireflies. I say fireflies, but these creatures are like no  
fireflies anyone of our time ever saw - they're as big as my thumb. Some of the  
smaller children, too young to handle the paper lanterns, tie threads to these  
insects and lead them about as their own little lights. I could well write to you  
by the light of one of these fireflies, if I could convince it to stay lit up.  
  
I saw one of the young men, Jord, giving Needle a large violet flower today. He  
asked that she wear it in her hair to the gathering.  
  
It made me think of you, Emma. I'm sorry that I didn't bring you flowers.  
  
Yours Forever,  
Alexander  
  
  
September 03, 802,701  
Darling Emma,  
  
The gathering was a rousing success. The Eloi celebrated their new dreams, and  
Vox's stories, all throughout the night with neither mishap nor interruption -  
indeed, it's growing late in the afternoon at this point. I fear that we all slept  
in rather late today.  
  
Weena began by giving more of her new stories, while she and the other children  
were still awake. Many of the others told their dreams. Some of them even told  
small stories based on the novels that Vox has been telling them - apparently  
Huckleberry Finn and his Jim once ran afoul of a few roving Morlocks on the  
Mississippi, and escaped by leading them through a patch of itchweed. It was  
quite charming, especially with the three boys telling it in parts.  
  
Amongst the other storytelling, I was asked to recount my part in the destruction  
of the Morlock caverns. I was reluctant, but Mara and Kalen came to my aid, filling  
in from their points of view. Kalen described our journey to the Sphinx, and on to  
the machines' breathing hole. I gave as detailed a description as I could of the  
beasts' appearances and living conditions, without dwelling on those more disturbing  
aspects of it. I said only that I was captured, and thrown down to the Lord of the  
Morlocks, who held Mara in a cage.  
  
Mara interrupted then, telling with enthusiasm of the grand evil of the Lord of  
the Morlocks: his reserved stature that belied his strength, and his horrific  
paleness as of some insect larvae that one would find on the underside of a rock.  
Of course, in her account, he also had the tail of a black snake rather than legs,  
and the wings of a bat that folded around him in darkness, and a forked tongue, and  
venomous fangs. I suppose it's all in one's perception.  
  
She then went on to tell how I heroically first defeated him with the dizzying  
spells of the Stone Language, then tore him limb from limb with my bare hands to  
rescue her, at last sacrificing my machine that we might escape the rest of the  
dumb beasts. The Eloi all cheered, though I could only think of his cold hands  
around my neck, and his screams in my ears and mind. Had he but released me, he  
would have fallen free into another time, not... died so horribly. It still makes  
me ill to think of it.  
  
"He appeared quite normal, apart from his albinism... mostly," I quietly told  
Vox, who appeared to be taking notes on the proceedings (photonic notepad in  
hand). "And it was time that ended him, not I. Had he only let go -"  
  
"So you've said," Vox muttered back, smiling broadly and scribbling his notes  
all the while. He seemed more delighted at the discrepancy than anything else.  
  
I caught Needle later in the evening, in a moment when she was alone. Even  
in that darkness, she had draped her head with gauze - but open-faced now, as a  
hood. At least in the night she could bare her arms as the other Eloi did, though  
their pale lengths gave her an exotic appearance, by comparison. I asked her what  
she dreamed of, since it seemed to be the topic for the time being.  
  
"Of darkness, and my father," she simply said, in her soft, underused voice. But  
she smiled a little when she spoke. Like the others, she seems to accept her past  
with memory rather than regret.  
  
Would that I could acquire that talent.  
  
There is one piece of darker news, perhaps. Jord, the young man who was giving  
his attention to Needle at the gathering, has gone missing. It is likely that he  
may have gone off to prove himself for Needle, as the others say is done sometimes.  
All the same, I pray for his safety.  
  
Sometimes, I dream of you, my Emma. Last night, I dreamt of the Morlock caverns,  
and the tiny glowing fish in the water in those vile depths. I wanted to catch one  
for you - they seemed to be more jewels than fish, in the dream - but they only  
turned into the broken fragments of the moon, becoming something I couldn't reach.  
  
I miss you.  
  
Love,  
Alexander  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
I'm writing this entirely for the new movie. I dearly love the ol' 1960 version,  
but it didn't make my brain want to do more the way the 2002 version does.  
And, like the 2002 version, this has nothing whatsoever to do with the book  
(which I also love dearly, and wouldn't touch for all the world).  
(I dunno. Books are sorta sacred and untouchable to me...  
but movies are fair game for fanfic. Wheeeee!)  
  
There is more to come; it will be posted as further chapters of story.  
(For once, I have a clear beginning, middle, and end in mind... mostly.) ;-)   
  
Comments? Complaints? Flames? I welcome all responses :-) 


	2. Part II: Riddles in the Dark

Eye of a Needle  
(Excerpts from the journal of Alexander Hartdegen)  
  
Part II: Riddles in the Dark  
  
September 06, 802,701  
My Precious Emma,  
  
I fear that I must begin today with sad news. Whilst we tended the windmill  
-monuments this afternoon, some of the children playing by the river came  
running back to us, crying in the Eloi tongue. I couldn't catch the words, but  
Mara ran with some of the others to a sheltered cove of the river that the  
children indicated, and I followed.  
  
Jord lay in the mud among the reeds at the water's edge, his throat torn out. We  
were soon to discover the beast that killed him, however - a Morlock, floating  
face-down in shallow water a little downstream.   
  
The Eloi have reacted strangely - rather than setting up a night watch to keep  
an eye out for more straggler Morlocks, they intend to simply continue as they  
always have. "Our village is as safe as we can make it," Mara told me. "Jord died  
because we were beyond the village at night."  
  
I pray that no more of those evil creatures survived. I do not know when, or if,  
the Eloi will ever venture out into the dark again.  
  
At my instruction, Jord's body was wrapped in heavy material and carried back to  
the monuments. We wasted no time, lest scavengers tear him apart; we buried him  
in the woods, away from the river, close to where my house once stood. Odd that  
my home should become a graveyard.  
  
Though most of the Eloi shed quiet tears for their lost brother, Needle showed  
no emotion. She seems even more inured than they to grief, and I sorrow for the  
torment that she must have lived with. She only lay the purple flower that Jord  
gave her on the body, before we lowered it and covered it.  
  
I thought that perhaps I should speak a few words on Jord's behalf, but Callo  
spoke first. He thanked me for teaching them the way of "sending away" the dead,  
as he put it. Then he said, to the others, that though Jord had not "gone away",  
he would be remembered in his family's breath. I believe that they meant the  
windmill-monument that Jord's family had built.  
  
I began to suffer a headache as we walked back to the monuments, though I cannot  
tell if the reason is grief or some ailment. I stumbled, and Mara held my hand to  
help me the rest of the way. She's a gentle and sweet girl, my love. I know that  
had either of you lived in the other's time, you would have been friends.   
  
I heard dear little Weena, who walked along near us, quietly practicing a new story.  
I think that she is creating a story to explain Death to the other children.  
  
We built a bonfire and cremated the Morlock body as quickly as we could. It did not  
die by drowning; when the men hauled it from the water, they found one of its own  
darts thrust through its eye, into its brain. Dear brave Jord killed the thing with  
its own dart before he died.  
  
I think that I will write no more tonight. I wish to sleep away this hurt.  
  
Yours faithfully,  
Alexander  
  
[The next writing is scratchy and erratic,  
as though written nearly blind]  
Post Script: I have been unable to sleep, waking at the least noise of birds or  
bats. I thought that I heard something moving about below, and even heard Kalen  
fret in his sleep, but when I looked down I saw that it was only Needle working her  
fabrics. She carries them to the platform outside to work by the fragmented moonlight.  
I wanted to tell her that she'll ruin her eyes that way, but I'm too tired right now.  
I must try to sleep.  
  
  
[Penned in an unsteady hand]  
September 9th, 802,701  
Beloved Emma,  
  
I beg forgiveness for not writing for the past few days; I have been feeling  
increasingly unwell. My head aches with the heat of the sun, and the nights are  
suddenly quite cold. I find that the food that I've been eating here tastes a little  
strange to me, as well. As none of the Eloi seem to notice, I can only assume that I  
am coming down with some ailment. I wonder what strange diseases have sprung into  
existence over the millennia; the thought of falling victim to some new nameless  
sickness worries me.  
  
I have stayed in our swallow's-nest dwelling for the past two days, and have mostly  
slept, and watched Needle at her craft. Even now I tire and my hands shake. This  
evening, I will attempt to journey to the Photonic to see if he can identify what  
ails me. I have next to no knowledge of the diseases of our time, much less what might  
be now.  
  
My dreams have been troubling me of late; I awake with cold images of the Morlock  
caverns in my mind's eye. I no longer see the tiny glowing fish in the caverns, only  
the darkness. I will try to rest now, and pray that I do not dream.  
  
With hope,  
Alexander  
  
  
[Penned with a heavy hand, with much concentration]  
September 10th, 802,701  
Sweet Emma,  
  
It is terribly hot today.  
  
I awoke before dawn to the Morlock leader's cold eyes staring at me with baleful  
resentment. As the dream-image faded from my mind, it occurred to me that I may  
have been hasty and uninformed in my course of action.  
  
The Eloi seem to be able to care for themselves, but I may have been deceived by  
my own wishfulness. I've found little leather in their possession, and though I have  
seen Needle work her fabric, I know not where the fabric comes from - I have seen no  
weavers, nor fields of any type of plant suitable to spin fibers from. They know  
nothing of farming. Their food grows wild; what will happen when they gather too  
much from an area? They cannot roam away to new pastures as the pygmies in Africa  
do. Their structures are too permanent for the hunting and gathering culture they have.  
  
I suspect that a great many of their amenities were provided by the Morlocks below,  
the better to keep the Eloi from wandering or learning for themselves. The Lord of  
the Morlocks said that there are many of their predator-prey colonies set up all  
about, and he said that they bred the Eloi. Without being able to migrate, without  
new blood from these other colonies, how long can my Eloi survive?  
  
Why did I so quickly resort to violence in dealing with the Morlock Lord? It was _I_  
who attacked _him_. Is man of our lost Age, after all, no more civilized than those  
monsters?  
  
I doubt myself. What right did I have to upset their horrible balance? I and one  
Photonic encyclopaedia are not enough to revolutionize the world.   
  
What hubris led me to consign these people to a slow death?  
  
I feel his gaze upon me again  
Forgive me  
  
[The entry ends]  
  
  
(September 13th, 802,701)  
Deer EMMA,  
  
This is Kalen. I DonT nOw You, but ALexanDeR askedd Mi to write To You For Him. I  
askedd VOX to tell Mi the rIt Leters And He said Good, but now i think He's madd  
about SomeThing And i'm writtting by MIself.  
  
ALexanDe [scribble scribble]  
Alexander askedd ME to write Because Alexander Is Not Good and He has A FeVir.  
I thot [scribble] thought EvryOne got Sick when They were Litle but MayBi not Alexander.  
  
VOX Is yelling about Prow Nowns now so i WonT write AnnyMore Today. Alexander Will  
write when HeS beter.  
  
Your Frend,  
Kalen  
  
  
[Penned in a slightly unsteady hand]  
September 16th, 802,701  
My Dearest Emma,  
  
Yesterday evening, my fever broke. I have been too weak to write until now, this  
afternoon, but even now my hands tremble a little. I am sitting up in bed just now;  
I believe I will refrain from attempting to walk until tomorrow, as Mara suggests.  
At least my appetite has returned.  
  
Kalen said that dear Mara hardly left my side while I lay ill, and that when she  
did, he or Needle took her place. Mara is resting peacefully now upstairs; she seemed  
quite tired, and looked as though she had slept as poorly as I. I am very grateful for  
her kindness and watchfulness - perhaps I can find some way to repay her.  
  
As I read over my past letters, I am overcome with melancholy to see my most recent  
fevered ravings. However, raving though it might be, there is some truth to it. I shall  
endeavor to learn all I can of the Eloi ways, and hopefully improve upon them. Perhaps  
in the Spring we can begin to farm in the river delta.  
  
Also, as I read dear Kalen's letter, I can see why I'm told that Vox has suddenly  
demanded to teach grammar and writing as well as literature and mathematics. Still,  
I think that the boy did quite well, for what was perhaps the first English writing  
in thousands of years.  
  
Something very strange happened a little while ago. Needle sat near me, embroidering  
again, with her gauze-draped back to me. I thanked her for helping to care for me,  
and I reached out to lay my hand on her back. I have grown used to the familiar  
closeness Mara and Kalen and the rest of the Eloi, and their friendly touches; I was  
unprepared to see Needle leap away at the merest brush of my fingers. She sprang up,  
crossing the room in a single bound, and hissed at me from the far side. She bared her  
teeth and hissed like an animal! The sudden hate in her eyes reminded me of my fevered  
dreams of the Morlock leader.  
  
She just as suddenly seemed to regain her composure, but she still glared at me, as  
angry as though I had tried to take some advantage of her. She left the dwelling in  
a huff, leaving her needlework behind.  
  
Just as she jumped away, through a gap in her wrappings, I saw again the strange  
puncture marks about her throat. Seeing my hand near them made me realize that they  
may have been made by some great clawed hand that clasped about her neck from behind,  
and dug in.  
  
The thought of her life's torment only strengthens my resolve. I must think of some  
way to apologize to her, but for now, I am still tired. I will write more tomorrow,  
my love.  
  
Yours until the End of Time,  
Alexander  
  
  
September 17th, 802,701  
Dearest Emma,  
  
I must be brief today, as I am still quite drained, but I wanted to write of today's  
events.  
  
I did not see Needle all the day, until the sun was nearly down. As I gazed at the  
sunset, taking in the fresh air of evening, the girl approached from below. She had  
been out the entire day, and had returned with the others in their boats.  
  
She sat next to me as darkness fell. For a while she was as silent as the Egyptian  
mummy she resembled in her wrappings, but eventually, she spoke. She apologized for  
reacting so violently to my touch.  
  
"My father..." She hesitated, as though unsure of her wording. "...Loved... my back.  
He kept his hand there often - a comfort," she explained. "You... reminded me. It hurt  
my heart."  
  
There is no anger in her pale blue eyes now, only a sort of... wistfulness. Perhaps  
the Eloi can, after all, suffer regret. "I'm sorry," I said, uselessly.  
  
She shook her head. "'Tis irrational," she simply said. She has indeed listened closely  
to Vox's lessons, to learn such words.  
  
The disquieting thought occurred to me that the scars on her neck might have been made  
by her father's hand - but I cast off the thought as soon as it came to me. No Eloi would  
do such a painful thing to one of their own, nor would one have the strength, from what  
I've seen. That alone gives me hope for the integrity of man.  
  
I looked up at the stars appearing in the sky. "It is not irrational to love one's  
parents," I said, thinking of my own. "Forgive my presumption."  
  
Rather than speaking, she suddenly extended her closed hand to me, indicating that I  
should open my own hands. When I did, she dropped something into them, and withdrew.  
  
In the fading light, I inspected the object that she had given me. It appeared to be a  
lump of metal, or perhaps two stuck together -  
  
Ah! I grasped the darker protrusion on the small bar of iron and pulled, and it came  
away easily, with a little resistance. Holding it close to the iron again, it fairly  
leapt from my hand, making a clacking noise as it again adhered to the metal. A magnet!  
  
"Where did you find this?" I exclaimed, surprised and delighted.  
  
Needle only shook her head. She refused the magnet when I tried to hand it back to  
her, indicating that she meant it to be mine. After a few more minutes' silence -  
during which I played with the magnet like a delighted child, I must admit - she took  
my hand and, quite deliberately, lay it over the nape of her neck.  
  
I am most pleased that she accepted not only my apology, but my presence as well. I  
suppose that Kalen, Mara, and I are the only family she has now - we're Mara's strays,  
as little Girda commented before.  
  
It feels good to have a family to care for again, dear heart; it seems something that  
I've been searching for, without knowing.  
  
I must rest now; I shall continue tomorrow.  
  
With all my Love,  
Alexander  
  
  
September 19th, 802,701  
My Darling Emma,  
  
I roused myself enough today to attend the children's' gathering in the  
stone-gallery. Under the watchful eyes of several of the young men, Weena told  
another of her tales, and the Photonic read aloud the beginning of a long story  
about a young man and a magic ring. Weena seemed quite pleased, and explained to  
me that the story drew on Norse Mythology, about which she knew quite a bit. She's  
fast becoming quite a little expert - at least, to her mind.  
  
The Eloi keep a careful watch over each other whenever they are out of the village  
now. Having tasted freedom, they are determined to keep it, and not lose it to any  
roving Morlocks that might still be about.  
  
One of the young men approached me early in the afternoon, as I returned to the  
monuments from the gallery. He pointed out, in broken (but improved) English, that  
I needn't grow out my facial hair if I didn't want to; he would teach me to shave  
using one of their devices, as he and the other young men did. As the Eloi men tend  
to shave their heads entirely, I assented, expecting an arduous process of learning  
to shave with their (relatively) dull blades.  
  
Instead, I was introduced to a particular grey river reed, which - when peeled apart  
at an angle - yields an edge as sharp as any razor. Perhaps the Eloi were not as  
dependent upon the Morlocks as I thought in my fever; nature seems to have evolved  
to supply them most of their wants. Even this paper upon which I write is easily made  
from the broad leaves of the Dira trees, I've found.  
  
Apparently there was some purpose to the young men's timing, as when I returned to  
the monuments again, Mara was there to meet me. She wore the embroidered tunic-like  
garment that Needle had created for her, and had plaited Tula flowers - now bright as  
flame at the end of their season - into her ebon hair.  
  
She seemed quite pleased to see me looking so well after my recent illness, and said  
something in her own language that I did not understand. Then she presented me with a  
beautiful necklace, a choker, woven of strong wood-like vines. Bound into the vines at  
the necklace's center was a smooth green river-stone - I think that at one time it was  
a piece of clear green glass.  
  
I was impressed by the choker's beauty, and told her so, and accepted it. Mara broke  
into a wide smile and tenderly bound the jewelry around my neck. I'd had no idea that  
she could produce such fine craft, and I feel honored to display it for her - especially  
since it seems to please the other Eloi so. Kalen in particular smiles every time he looks  
at it.  
  
Mara wanted to hold my hand the rest of our time at the windmill-monuments today, and  
I let her. My fever must have given her an awful fright; I'm quite glad that I came out  
of it all right.  
  
In the twilight, after the boats were pulled up for the night, the Eloi did something  
that I had not seen before. Rather than turning in for the night, they all stood on  
their platforms and pathways, and the bridges that span the canyon, and sang until the  
last light of the setting sun faded away. The sound of their echoing chorus was at once  
beautiful and haunting; I wish that I could truly share it with you, my beloved.  
  
Once inside, it turned out that Kalen made dinner for us, while Mara seemed satisfied  
to only sit and talk with me. Of all things, she asked me about you. The gentle way  
that she smiled as I spoke was... oddly comforting.  
  
It has been rather a full day, for my first day out of the dwelling since my sickness,  
and I am comfortably tired. I believe I shall turn in now, though it is earlier than  
usual, that I might be stronger tomorrow.  
  
Love Always,  
Alexander 


	3. Part III: All Summer in a Day

Eye of a Needle  
(Excerpts from the journal of Alexander Hartdegen)  
  
Part III: All Summer in a Day  
  
September 23rd, 802,701  
Cherished Emma,  
  
It rained a bit today - the first rain I've seen here. It was a gentle and  
constant rain, but it only lasted for a few hours. Afterward, all the warm  
scent of Summer seemed to have been washed away, and the day has been slightly  
cooler since.  
  
I am told that it was the first of the rains of Winter. Apparently, Winter is a  
rainy season here, as it is in the more equatorial lands of our time. I wonder  
if I should invent the umbrella for the Eloi (or at least for myself) before it  
rains again.  
  
We were caught out at the monuments when the rain began. The Eloi did not try to  
take shelter, but rather danced in the downpour like little children. As for  
myself, I stepped back into the bamboo forest, trying to stay as dry as I could.  
Mara thought this behavior quite amusing, and took my hands and dragged me out  
into the rain again.  
  
It was enjoyable, once I became used to it. But I'm afraid that at this rate, my  
pants and shoes will soon be quite ruined.  
  
We took bamboo poles from the woods and transported them to the stone-gallery,  
where we have begun to erect a raised dome above the room. In this manner, the  
children can continue their lessons with the Photonic; otherwise, we would have  
to take his looking-glass there back to the library to protect it from the weather.  
  
Kalen has discovered the basic precept of algebra all on his own - that the  
unknown quantity in an equation can be stated at any point in the equation.  
Delighted, I showed him how to move that unknown quantity from one part of the  
equation to another using the basic mathematical functions that he has so quickly  
grown accustomed to. The practice sets that Vox set him to have kept him busy  
for hours.  
  
I noticed that, in the rain, Needle's clothing was stained by a reddish color  
seeping down from her draped head. Apparently she's been using the mud from the  
woods to keep her hair plastered away from her face, under her head-wrap. Still,  
even under the cloud-darkened sky, she would not remove her wrappings. Perhaps  
she is a little paranoid of the sun.  
  
She seemed to be quite pale, from the little I could see of her, mostly around  
her eyes. It was as though the color had washed out of her skin. I hope that she  
is not coming down with the same fever that struck me down not long ago.  
  
Mara has been staying close to me, particularly in the evenings - she now always  
sits next to me, and she keeps my hands near hers at the table. I am not sure what  
to make of her becoming so affectionate. Perhaps it is simply the cooler weather  
that influences her?  
  
I will try to address the situation tomorrow.  
  
Yours Faithfully,  
Alexander  
  
  
September 28th, 802,701  
Sweetest Emma,  
  
The dome over the stone-gallery is finished - which is good, for it rained again  
today, a bit more insistently this time. It was pouring for most of the day. If  
Vox appeared to us as a cat, I believe he would sit and lash his tail and hiss  
at the rain that he is now shielded from. The weather seems to make him quite  
nervous, if such a thing is possible for him. I suppose that it is; though he  
tells me that he was made by man, he seems indistinguishable from a normal human,  
only trapped within his looking-glasses.  
  
As we completed the dome, I slipped; and though I was not hurt, my shirt was  
torn up the back. It snagged on one of the exposed pole-ends of the dome. I  
hope that Needle can mend it.  
  
As we returned to the village, climbing up the ladders from the boats below,  
I noticed that Needle's hair has grown - the ends of it were sticking out of  
her soaked shroud at the back, washed clean of mud. I didn't see it at first -  
the light color blended in with the gauze of her clothing. Her hair's natural  
color is a very pale blonde, almost white. I think that I might be right about  
her ancient Scandinavian ancestry.  
  
Perhaps in the other Eloi villages there are others like Needle, with clear  
blood-links to the past. I may have to journey to meet these others some day,  
perilous though the undertaking would be.  
  
Her skin was pale in the rain again. I begin to worry for her health. Though  
her thin body has filled out a bit, I can still feel each bone of her spine when  
I lay my hand at the base of her neck, as she now likes me to. (I seem to have  
become something of a surrogate father for her.)  
  
Weena actually came over to visit with Kalen this evening. She was very excited  
to tell us a new story about the weeping clouds, and says that she will tell it  
to the other children tomorrow.  
  
In addition, with Vox's help, Callo is attempting to build a stringed instrument.  
Mara tells me that, during the rainy season, the Eloi spend more time indoors in  
the evenings and work on such projects. It seems that they react to the confinement  
of Winter just as we did in our time.  
  
I am sorry that I have not yet questioned Mara about her increasing familiarity  
with me. Each time I try to broach the subject, she simply smiles at me with laughter  
in her eyes, and I cannot bring myself to chastise her for nothing more than  
friendliness.  
  
On the other hand, I feel that I must continue to try to mention her behavior.  
This evening, for example, she has fallen asleep while leaning against me as I  
write. I shall have to put her to bed as I sometimes have Kalen.  
  
I will again try to address the situation tomorrow.  
  
Yours Forever and Ever,  
Alexander  
  
  
September 30th, 802,701  
Dearest Emma,  
  
It seems appropriate that it rains again today. Last night I confronted Mara  
about her actions toward me, and today she has not spoken a word to me.  
  
I don't know how I have caused her such frustration. I only asked her why she  
wanted to keep such contact with me. She laughed, and drew my arm over her  
shoulders. Laying her head thus on my shoulder, she reached up with one hand  
to touch the necklace that she gave to me, which I still wear.  
  
I was taken aback, and moved away, questioning her again. This time, she jerked  
back as though struck, and looked at me in shock. Then she stood and left my  
side for the first time in days, and went downstairs.  
  
I tried to follow her, but she only glared back at me, and went outside.  
Frustrated, I went back upstairs, and tried to sleep (with moderate success).  
  
When I awoke in the morning, she was downstairs preparing breakfast as usual,  
but she seems disinclined to speak with me. I think that she is more troubled  
than angry. I am at a loss.  
  
Kalen speaks to me, but only of mathematics; he seems to sense that all is not  
well, though he was asleep when we... had our row, I suppose I should say.  
  
We went to the orchard-area to collect fruit today, rain notwithstanding. Needle  
stayed behind. Upon my return, I found my shirt lying mended on my bed (I've worn  
a loose substitute for the past days), but of the girl there is no sign. I hope  
that she returns soon, and does not become ill from the rain.  
  
I pray that this misunderstanding is resolved soon. It occupies much of my mind.  
  
With Love,  
your Alexander  
  
  
October 3, 802,701  
Precious Emma,  
  
Mara and I are on speaking terms again, though she is not so close to me as  
she was before. When I attempted to question her again, she said only that I  
do not understand, but that I should not trouble myself over it now.  
  
I believe that she may have said that to try to alleviate my worry concerning  
Needle. It has been raining for the past few days almost constantly, and she  
has not returned. With the swiftness of the river and the slickness of the  
rocks, I fear the worst, and I can see such fears in Kalen and Mara as well.  
Not to mention what happened to Jord...  
  
One of the children that found Jord's body still cries with nightmares of it.  
The dreams and stories of the other Eloi are still spoken of, but now in more  
hushed tones. I think perhaps that they fear to glory in them again as they  
did that night, for fear of another death. I hope that they do not make a  
custom of this reservation, as it is unsettling to me after their initial  
enthusiasm.  
  
The pounding rain, the fish-oiled paper of the dwellings' outer walls exudes  
an... interesting scent. I am growing used to it, but it seemed unbearable  
yesterday morning. I would give much to sit and watch the rain from inside my  
greenhouse; the thought that I will never do so again weighs heavily on my mind.  
  
I will write again soon. I am going to try to search for Needle tomorrow.  
  
Love,  
Alexander  
  
  
October 4th, 802,701  
My Beloved Emma,  
  
I awoke before dawn this morning. Unable to sink back into the oblivion of  
sleep, I went downstairs and onto the platform outside, seeking comfort in  
watching the sun rise. (Or, more realistically, in watching the grey sky lighten.)  
  
The world outside was dim, shrouded so in fog that the opposite wall of the  
canyon could not be seen. I watched as the soft mist brightened a bit. I began  
to hear a few morning voices across the chasm.  
  
Turning to go back inside, I was confronted with quite a surprise. There, on  
the cliff face next to our dwelling, was a figure descending head-first. I nearly  
didn't see it - its mud-stained clothing made it difficult to see against the  
rocks. At first glance I thought that the nimble, long-armed and long-fingered  
creature was a Morlock.  
  
When I caught sight of it, the figure stopped moving, and raised its face to  
me - and luckily, before I cried out, I saw that it was Needle. Her arms,  
feet, and head were bare; the extra material that she usually wrapped them  
with was bound about her waist.  
  
She remained still for a few moments more, and it seemed that only we two  
existed in the grey world. She regarded me with her crystal eyes, her expression  
emotionless and unreadable. Her lips were violet-blue with morning cold, but  
she did not shiver. I cannot imagine what she might have been thinking, but  
for the space of a heartbeat, I was afraid. I do not know why.  
  
Then the moment passed, and she pushed off from the wall. She righted herself  
in mid-air with unusual grace, as though swimming, and drew herself upright  
on the platform in front of me.  
  
I could think of nothing to say, really. "You were gone for a long time," I  
said dumbly. "Where did you go?"  
  
She shook her head. "I journeyed," she said with equal simplicity. "I brought  
for you..." She pulled a small object from the gauze wrapped at her waist, and  
thrust it into my hands, much as she had the magnet.  
  
It was a small, finger-long piece of brass pipe. Shining brass pipe. It could  
only have come from my time machine.  
  
"Where did you find this?" I asked, stunned. I prayed that she did not stray  
so close to the destroyed Morlock caverns. If those beasts still roamed anywhere  
in this area, they would be there.  
  
She hesitated, then shrugged. "In the river," she smiled a little.  
  
Glancing up at the brightening mist, she unwrapped a length of gauze from her  
waist, draping it about her head. "The sun will shine today," she noted, and  
turned to go inside.  
  
"Wait," I said, placing a hand on her thin shoulder. "You were..." I faltered.  
I wasn't sure how to say what I meant to say. "We were worried," I tried. "You  
were gone for a long time. Please... don't leave us to worry again... Please?"  
  
She blinked, her expression otherwise uncommonly still. "Very well," she answered.  
And that was that; she walked out from under my hand and went inside.  
  
I followed her in and began to make breakfast; after all, what else could I do?  
  
The sun did indeed shine today, and we visited the stone-gallery, and  
listened to more of Vox's stories. He had finished the long fairy-tale of  
the Ring, and was now telling of how the last people of Mars had lived -  
though he had a hard time convincing the attentive Eloi of Mars being a place  
to live at all. I think that its being another planet traveling around our same  
sun was completely lost to them, but they will learn. (I supposed at the time  
that his information on the Martians had simply become available after our  
time, but I learned later that it was a fictional account.)  
  
As we were about to leave, and most of the visitors had filed out of the room,  
the Photonic beckoned me over. He complimented me on my teaching skills. I was  
embarrassed; I had been devoting most of my time to learning of the Eloi ways,  
and had left most of the teaching to him.  
  
When I told him that, and asked him why he thought to comment now, he appeared  
to be confused. "Well, Needle has gained such a broad understanding of physics  
so quickly - I was sure that you were behind it."  
  
I didn't know what to think.  
  
I've just now remembered something odd. When I saw Needle descending the cliff,  
she at first had her head bowed downward. Her rain-washed hair streamed down  
like milk, and on the back of her head, at her hairline, was something dark.  
It would seem that the bruises that blemished the back of her head when we found  
her are still, somehow, unhealed.  
  
This triggers some other association in my mind, but I cannot remember what.  
Perhaps I shall think of it later. I shall write a post-script if I do.  
  
Love always,   
Alexander  
  
  
October 7th, 802,701  
Sweet Emma,  
  
The Eloi killed a Morlock today.  
  
I am more than a little disturbed by the event, but I am glad that they  
were able to subdue the creature. It shows that they have the capability  
of defending their village now.  
  
All the same, I am disturbed.  
  
The rain was light today, and we went to tend to the windmill-monuments. We  
had a rough time of it; during the night, the river had risen. However, with  
the boats safely stored high above the water at night, none were lost. The  
going was only troublesome because of the turbulent flood.  
  
When we reached the monuments, we found them shin-deep in murky water. The  
water still flowed fast here, but it was at least more placid than the main  
course of the river, and we were able to set to work with little difficulty.  
A close eye was kept on the children, who found the flooding to be quite  
entertaining.  
  
As the day drew on, a few of the children came running toward Kalen and I,  
grabbing our hands and leading us. Another two attracted Mara's attention  
and brought her along. We followed them to a shaded cove, much like the one  
in which Jord's body was found.  
  
In the nearly still water there, the excited children pointed out tiny blue  
flashes in the murk. I stared at them in wonder for a bit before I realized  
what they were. It was a small school of the blue-glowing cave fish that I had  
seen in the Morlock caverns. The flooding must have washed them out into the  
river, and they had taken shelter for the day in the shade at the river's edge.  
  
The children had recognized them from one of our accounts of my rescue of Mara  
from the Morlocks. We thanked them for pointing them out to us, and we remained  
there to watch as the little ones played with them for a while.  
  
Later on, I saw a group of the young men conferring in hushed voices, and I  
approached them to see what was going on. One of them, a youth named Rif, had  
found the carcass of one of the small marsupials that lived near the river.  
That alone would not have been strange, except that he'd found it wedged securely  
high up inside one of the monuments, bound in Dira leaves. What's more, the  
thing had been gutted and skinned, and part of its meat was missing.  
  
I heard them whisper "Morlock" more than once, and I agreed with them that we  
would not tell the others, for fear of causing a panic. Instead, we gave the  
meat to the fish of the river, and we went among the others without a mention  
of it, keeping a close watch.  
  
The time to return to the village was drawing nigh when we heard a child's  
scream. Instantly we were running toward the sound. I had no thought of defense  
or attack in my head, only a blind fear for the child who had screamed, but  
some of the Eloi brought sharp-splintered rods of bamboo with them as spears.  
Apparently it was not just the young men who had been on alert; nearly all the  
tribe ran with us toward the cry.  
  
I glimpsed Needle racing with us. She moved purposefully, flinging herself through  
the air with shocking speed, overcoming log, stump, and boulder as we ran through  
the bamboo forest. It was she who reached the scene first.  
  
It was Weena - she'd wandered away from the others, and had somehow slipped by  
us. A Morlock stood over her, massive by comparison, its arms open wide to  
snatch her up. The thing was more emaciated than Needle was when we first found  
her, and there seemed a desperation to its movements and growls. Weena had  
apparently dodged past it several times, but it now had her cornered against  
a large tree stump.  
  
Needle reached them, but was not able to stop. Her foot landed on the rain-  
slicked leaves of the forest floor and slipped, sending her face-first into  
the ground only a few feet to the Morlock's side. She quickly raised her head,  
springing into a crouch as the creature turned toward her.  
  
The monster stopped. It simply stood, staring at her with its huge,  
frighteningly slanted eyes.  
  
Momentarily forgotten, Weena scampered out of the way. The Eloi arrived,  
and attacked.  
  
I grabbed up Weena and held the crying child close, and turned to Needle,  
who stood facing the scene. Her nose was bleeding - she must have struck it on  
the ground when she fell - but she didn't seem to notice. The pale girl was  
transfixed, her eyes never leaving the beast as the Eloi beat and stabbed it  
to death.  
  
I didn't see it move to defend itself at all.  
  
I'm afraid that afterward, I lost track of Needle. I haven't seen her this  
evening; she did not return with us in the boats. Perhaps she, too, found the  
day's events disturbing, and has gone wandering a little in search of peace. I  
myself am considering such a course of action. I don't want to think of this  
horror any longer.  
  
Perhaps I will consult with Vox about this. I want the Eloi to be free - I don't  
want them to turn into monsters as brutal as their former masters, and I myself  
may not be an appropriate role model for them, given what I have done.  
  
If only you were here to teach them your temperance, my beloved. I miss you terribly.  
  
Love for All Time,  
Alexander  
  
  
[Scrawled in haste]  
October 8th, 802,701  
Dear God. I know who she is. 


	4. Part IV: Speaker for the Dead

Eye of a Needle  
(Excerpts from the journal of Alexander Hartdegen)  
  
Part IV: Speaker for the Dead  
  
  
October 10th, 802,701  
Darling Emma,  
  
Please forgive my outburst of a few days ago. At the time it seemed vastly  
important that I make some record of my discovery, but I wished so fervently  
to act upon it, and it startled me so, that I was not able to write at any length.  
I shall attempt to record the recent events as well as I can; I must begin this  
tale shortly before I last wrote you.  
  
On the morning of the eighth, I sat with Kalen in our dwelling, taking shelter from  
the especially heavy rain outside. (Finally, a storm violent enough to convince the  
Eloi to stay inside.) Mara was setting some herbs to dry (as best she could, given  
the damp weather). Needle still remained missing; none had seen her since the Morlock  
attack.  
  
At Kalen's request, we were looking over these letters, that he might better gain a  
better grasp of spelling and grammar. As I re-read these records, a number of factors  
suddenly fell into place. Needle's near-phobia of sunlight, her persistently carnivorous  
diet, her long limbs and fingers and unusual climbing ability - all appeared, in  
retrospect, to indicate that she had some stronger ties to the Morlocks than being a  
mere captive. Additional evidence could be found in my descriptions of her pale skin  
and hair - that became more pale when the rain washed her disguising mud away.  
  
The factor that swayed me most, however, was the perpetual bruising about the back of  
her head, and her prominent spine. It became clear to me that she had never been bruised  
there at all - her brain was simply too large for her cranium, though not nearly so  
overly developed as that of the Morlock Lord.  
  
I realized that Needle was not an escaped foreign Eloi, nor a simple Morlock; she was  
a Morlock of their ruling caste.  
  
Kalen seemed to reach the inevitable conclusion just as I did. Mara was upstairs at  
the time, whilst we were downstairs, and so I was able to swear him to silence before  
she was to know.  
  
I'm afraid that I did not much consideration to my next course of action. Still  
shocked by my revelation, I hastily scrawled my message of that day, intending to  
depart at once in search of the girl. Knowing her identity, I strongly desired to  
confront her, and learn of what she planned for the future. It is interesting, the  
sudden wedge of suspicion suspicion that took root in me, the moment I knew of her  
true nature. Though I had no evidence, I was sure that she intended to in some way  
reinstate the relationship between the Eloi and Morlock as it had been before my arrival.  
  
And so, I at once departed to the ruins of the Morlock caverns, where I was certain  
(because of the small gifts that she'd given me) that she hid. I realize now that  
those gifts were intended to secretly tell me of her hiding place, so that none but  
I would find her.  
  
I bade Kalen to tell Mara only that I had left to consult the Photonic on an urgent  
matter. I hadn't even the consideration to think of a more plausible explanation for  
my absence.  
  
Perhaps setting out alone in one of the Eloi boats was not my most brilliant decision.  
With the river running high, swift, and muddied, and what with my inexperience, I was  
barely able to navigate. I brought the boat ashore much further downriver than I  
anticipated, and as a result, I spent most of the day journeying through the dank  
forest on foot, scavenging some of the immense wild berries to eat along my way. I  
finally reached the Photonic's library, a landmark on my way, in the late afternoon.  
  
I had been proceeding with caution, aware that the Eloi may have ranged near this place  
by now, as the rain had slackened to a light drizzle. All the same, I paused to question  
Vox. I asked him whether he had spoken with Needle in the past few days.  
  
"She came by this way yesterday," he told me, appearing to be ill at ease. "I don't  
think that she can understand it at this point, unless she's some latent genius, but  
she asked me about time travel."  
  
His words set a chill about me. "What did you tell her?" I asked.  
  
At that, Vox smiled. "Apart from your... existence, my database has no record of time  
travel actually having been accomplished. I told her to ask you."  
  
He had no further information to give me, and so I left, hoping to reach the ruins by  
nightfall. I was gripped by a quite rational fear for my safety upon reaching that  
cursed place, but I continued on nonetheless. The way was difficult, for there was no  
breathing of the Morlock machines to guide me.  
  
Darkness fell, until I stumbled nearly blind through the trees, guessing dangerously  
at my direction. As I neared the area, I became aware of pale movement in the woods  
around me. I stopped, reaching for a branch at my feet, expecting to be attacked.  
  
Instead, three Morlocks hesitantly stepped out of the undergrowth, preventing me from  
turning back. With grunts and arm-waving, they indicated that I was to continue on.  
  
The beasts were quite thin, and their eyes were dulled. I would have thought that  
hunger would have driven them to attack, but instead, they seemed to be resigned to  
their starvation. I thought of the way that the one that had come after Weena had  
failed to defend itself, and I began to feel pity for the monstrous creatures.  
  
They herded me forward until I reached, over uneven ground and fallen trees, the  
destroyed structure that had once been the Sphinx. The area was cleared of debris,  
leaving an open space before the platform with its remaining twisted shards of metal.  
  
Needle was at the top of the structure, seated among the ruins as in a throne. Her  
arms and head were bared to the misty moonlight, the extra gauze draped ghost-like  
about the metal pieces behind her. She appeared to be tired - her eyes were half-closed  
- but she wore a cold and haughty expression, and sat still as stone. A long and  
disturbing line of blood trailed from one nostril, down over her lips, to at last  
drip and stain her shirt.  
  
Below her, on the cleared lawn, lay pieces of my time machine. Bits of crumpled metal,  
brass rails bent like wire, hand-sized pieces of glass, one half-burnt wooden slat. In  
the center of the display lay my crystal-headed control stick, still whole, but that  
the crystal was now cracked.  
  
The three Morlocks guiding me dispersed, filtering back into the forest. After a  
silent minute, I became unsure that she was even aware of my presence, and I parted  
my lips to greet her (for lack of a better reaction).  
  
Before I spoke, she said softly, "Hello, Alexander." The sound of her voice barely  
carried across the clearing.  
  
I moved to the base of the Sphinx, carefully side-stepping the remains of my machine,  
so that I could stand closer to her. "Good evening, Needle," I returned, cautiously  
treating the situation as normal. "How have you been?"  
  
"I grieve," she responded with honesty. The pleasantries of our era are a ritual  
lost in this time.  
  
"Is there... Is there anything I can do, Needle?" It felt dreadful to be so mundane  
in my conversation, but I did not know how to approach the subject of my suspicions  
without endangering my life.  
  
She turned her cold eyes on me at last. "Can you undo the past?" She asked, her voice  
as calm as ice.  
  
I glanced down at the pieces of my time machine, and up at the mirroring fragments  
of the moon. "Even when I had my machine, I could not," I told her sadly. "For better  
or worse, the overall course of events were unchanged, despite my efforts." I thought  
only of you, my dearest Emma, and I wondered if Needle knew just how dreadfully I had  
wanted to change the past.  
  
"I think you can."  
  
I had been looking away, and at her words, I hastily glanced up to her again. Her  
face was still placid, but she seemed to be quite sure of herself. I was stunned.  
"Why... do you say that?"  
  
She lightly pushed off from her perch, landing lightly before me. "We are both  
driven by similar... emotions," she said, pacing a little. "I talk of acting on  
these emotions. I learn quickly; I will help you rebuild your machine. Go into the  
past to your Emma -"  
  
I gave a start at hearing her utter your name. "What?"  
  
"I read your letters when you were fevered," she quickly explained.   
  
I paused in surprise, then shook my head and responded. "I attempted to... prevent  
her death... before. I failed. Without her death I would not have used my time machine  
as I did, even if I ever completed it." I extended my hands to her, trying to  
communicate the sorrow I still feel - that I am still a captive of time, as are all;  
and that the past will forever flow in its course.  
  
Needle seemed to grow more excited as she listened to me, as though she knew something  
that I did not. Her English faltered in her excitement. "No, no, listen to me. What if."  
  
What if. The cursed phrase that the Lord of the Morlocks had pointed out to me caught  
in my mind as the girl continued to speak.  
  
"What if, what if she did not die there? What if she simply appeared to die, and you  
took her away, brought her here, or anywhen?" Needle turned away from me, then back,  
anxiously. "You could do the same for my father, then. Rescue him and return him to me."  
  
I could only sigh. Wandering was not the life I had wanted for us, and so I had never  
considered that possibility, when I'd had the chance. I missed you so dearly just then  
that Needle's idea seemed quite sound... But I doubted that I would ever be able to  
rebuild my machine here, in this new stone age. "Needle, I -"  
  
She stopped, trembling. "It would work," she said, and I heard the desperation in her  
voice. "It _must_ work. Don't deny us this. Please, don't -" Needle cut herself off,  
seeing my stony expression.  
  
Her assessment had been quite correct - we were indeed driven by the same emotions.  
I traveled in time to try to save you, and now I looked upon a young woman who wanted  
to do the same for her father. The fact that she was a Morlock was immaterial.  
  
I shook my head. "I cannot rebuild the machine, Needle. I haven't the tools or materials  
here." I advanced on her ghostly form, attempting to embrace her. "I understand how you  
feel, but there is nothing that can be done -"  
  
She stepped back, out of my reach - still trembling, but now with some colder emotion  
than excitement. "Understand?" she said in a dangerously soft, even voice. "How can  
you _understand?_  
  
She suddenly stilled, her eyelids lowering again. As I watched, a fresh trickle of  
blood seeped from her nose. "They want you," she murmured.  
  
I realized that the brute Morlocks had crept back into the clearing - five of the  
pitiful creatures. They crouched at the edges, surrounding us, making barely a sound.  
Each pair of slanted eyes was fixed on me, and I'm sure that more than one of them was  
salivating.  
  
"They aren't listening," she sighed, appearing quite exhausted again. "Too hungry,  
and they think that you are harming me. They do not realize-"  
  
One of the beasts bounded forward with a roar. I saw it leap, saw Needle look toward  
it, her eyes suddenly wide - and saw it land in a heap at my feet. The thing had simply  
died in mid-air.  
  
The other four moved forward a little, but none of them charged. They sat back on their  
haunches, making a sad keening sound. One by one, they lay down, and their wailing and  
motion ceased.  
  
I turned back to Needle, only to find her similarly collapsed, her breathing quiet and  
erratic. I knelt at her side and gathered her into my lap, turning her face-up, my hand  
at the back of her neck.  
  
"They did not realize that you are leader," she whispered between gasps. "My father  
died at your hands, so you are leader..."  
  
She lapsed into silence, slipping into sleep. I sat in the darkness and held her, and  
I mourned, for both my loss and hers.  
  
  
In the morning of the 10th, we awoke to further rain. I did the best I could to  
provide those last few Morlocks with a burial by pushing them into the network of  
chasms about that were once their caverns. Needle was too weak to help.  
  
I had it in mind to return to the Eloi village, but it occurred to me that Needle  
mightn't be welcome there. However, the thought of failing to follow me apparently  
never crossed her mind, peril or no.  
  
As we walked, I learned a little about her, through conversation. At first glance her  
past might seem horrific... but I find that, though it was certainly difficult, her  
acceptance of it prevents me from pitying her.  
  
Her father was indeed the Lord of the Morlocks that I met; her mother was a captive  
Eloi. She was somewhat of an experiment - an attempt to produce a Morlock who could  
survive above ground during the day. Though the breeding promised weakened mental  
powers, the yearning for sunlight was, in this one case, greater than reason.  
  
When Needle was seven years old, her mother died for want of freedom and sun (her words),  
and she and her father consumed her flesh. The young woman spoke of this as though it  
were the most normal thing in the world - "the day and the night", as the Eloi put it.  
Apparently the Morlocks always consumed their dead, as part of their funerary ritual.  
  
According to Needle, her father did indeed love her, and kept her as near as he dared.  
Presumably his touch to the back of her neck was simply in pleasure that she did not bear  
the deformity that bound him. Once, and only once, did she rebel against him - and that  
is how she acquired the scars at her neck.  
  
Because she was half Eloi, however, Needle was considered unfit to train as one of the  
ruling caste. In spite of this, her father still attempted to train her, but her mind  
was simply too weak - her greater efforts produced the hemorrhaging that I had seen  
earlier. So, instead, she was trained in a lower caste's task of supporting the Eloi.  
This was how she learned her fabric-craft, which indeed the Eloi do not have for  
themselves. (She stated her intention to teach them, with my blessing.)  
  
In her own realm, she was never named, because of her diluted lineage. She took her  
name among the Eloi from her craft, as was the custom among her own people.  
  
Needle also revealed to me that she had witnessed Jord's death. She had been unable  
to control the Morlock that had attacked, but once it killed, it recognized her and  
attempted to share the kill, as it were. She killed it easily - simply because it  
had nearly attacked her, and might be a threat to me. (To her mind, I was her father's  
clear successor, because he had died at my hands. So certain was she that I hadn't the  
heart to correct her.) Such errors are not to be tolerated, she told me. She was able  
to control the other Morlocks later because of their hunger-weakened state. (Apparently  
after my adventure, so few of them remained that they feared to hunt the more numerous  
Eloi.)  
  
The last information that she passed to me was that it had been no mistake that she  
had escaped. Because of his attunement to both the Morlocks and the Eloi, her father  
had suspected trouble, and had commanded her to stay near the surface.  
  
At that point we reached the library again. We paused only to eat a little fruit and  
speak with Vox a little concerning what had happened.  
  
I am pleased that Needle is becoming more omnivorous than carnivorous. It indicates  
to me that perhaps, rather than battling the other Morlock enclaves with disastrous  
results such as this, we may be able to bring about a more peaceful change for both  
species.  
  
We met the Eloi at the windmill-monuments. The sun had been shining for a few hours,  
and though she still shielded her eyes, Needle walked bare-headed. Apparently much of  
her wrapping, after her initial burns, had merely been to disguise her appearance.  
  
I was not sure how to explain Needle to them, now that she revealed herself to them.  
At our approach, most of the children that we met at the outskirts ran toward the larger  
group of Eloi. Only the guarding young men and the little girl Weena remained to walk  
toward the others with us.  
  
"Well?" Mara asked when we came near. The other Eloi surrounded us.  
  
It was not the greeting that I had expected. "Well...?" I asked in return, confused.  
  
"She _is_ a Morlock," one of the others around us said.  
  
"Pale as things under a rock," another said. I realized that they were speaking  
in English for my benefit.  
  
"I... told," Kalen muttered to me, worming his way through the crowd to stand with  
me. "I'm sorry." He stayed to my side, away from Needle, who hung back. Even he was  
afraid, a little.  
  
I cleared my throat. "Needle is not a Morlock," I began. I had no idea how to finish  
the thought, as she certainly wasn't an Eloi, either.  
  
"Then what is she?" One of the young males said, suspicious. I noticed that all of  
the young males now carried pointed sticks of bamboo.  
  
It was Mara who stepped to my aid. "She is a Newyorker," she said, turning so that  
all could hear her. "She and Alexander are just like."  
  
And that answer satisfied the Eloi, and Needle was suddenly as accepted as I. The  
group dispersed to their tasks again.  
  
Needle alone appeared to be a little confused, having apparently expected to fight  
for her life, given what the Eloi had done to the last Morlock they'd seen. As she  
stood, looking about, little Weena suddenly appeared next to her, and took her pale  
hand.  
  
"Don't worry," Weena said, smiling up at Needle. "I know how Mythology works. I'll  
fix it. In a hundred years, you'll be the daughter of a god."  
  
And then she ran away laughing to play with Kalen, and the rest of the day  
passed as though nothing had happened.  
  
I was rather tired last night - too tired to begin this chronicle - and so I have  
spent the day today writing this. I must try, however, to keep a closer eye on these  
letters in the future, so that the things that I record here do not disturb Kalen or Mara.  
  
[Later]  
Mara told me, over dinner this evening, that the choker that she made for me - and  
that I accepted and wear - is a wedding band. It took her a little while to learn the  
correct term from Vox.  
  
I'm quite shocked. I honestly don't know how I am to take care of this situation... I  
will think on it tonight.  
  
With all my Love,  
Alexander  
  
  
  
___________________________________________  
Author's Note: Not Done Yet! Epilogue to follow 


	5. Epilogue: Once Upon a Time

Eye of a Needle  
(Excerpts from the journal of Alexander Hartdegen)  
  
Epilogue: Once Upon a Time  
  
December 1st, 802,701  
Cherished Emma,  
  
The plans for construction that I was working on have been heartily agreed to.  
Hopefully, by the end of Summer, we shall have a proper meeting-hall above the  
Photonic's library. The Eloi want to start as soon as the rainy season ends;  
several of them have taken to practicing stone-carving in anticipation of the task.  
  
The small loom that Needle built has attracted much attention, as has her process  
of spinning the river-reed fibers. She is working now, as I sit by her and write;  
she sings softly, in tongue incomprehensible to both the rest of us, to the rhythm  
of the device's clacking. I am reminded of the songs of Celtic washer-women that  
survived on remote islands in my previous Age.  
  
Callo's guitar, as Vox named it, has generated as much interest in the Eloi as did  
the emergence of dreams. I think that, when the rains finally cease, we will have  
many more celebrations of imagination to look forward to.  
  
I caught Kalen trying to explain a bit of trigonometry to some of the other  
children; he has absorbed all mathematics presented to him at an astonishing  
rate. He now constantly carries the foot-stick that Vox measured for him, and  
without his calculations, it would have taken me a few more days to complete the  
plans for the meeting-hall. The Eloi may well have produced their first modern  
architect.  
  
With the help of Vox, dear Mara has made great progress in teaching English to all  
the denizens of the village. I, on the other hand, have made equal progress in  
learning the Eloi language. I decided yesterday to begin a record apart from these  
letters, that I might begin a language dictionary. Vox said that he will help; he  
learned much of the Eloi language from his long-ago friend (now buried, may he  
rest in peace).  
  
Last night, Mara came to my bed, and I did not bid her leave. I find that I long to  
share with her the joy of family, as I shared with you for that one phantom moment  
in the Morlock caverns. There will never come a time when I cease to love you, my  
darling Emma; nor will there come a time when I forsake my new kin. And though I  
cannot be with you, I know that in your time, you will always love me.  
  
With all my love,  
Forever and a Day,  
your Alexander  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes  
(or, Part VI: A Tourist Guide to Ankh-Morpork)  
  
Like my only other fanfic that I feel qualifies as good, this started out as a  
bad joke. (That other fanfic is "Trollsbane", written for the Sci-Fantasy TV series  
Lexx. I don't have it up yet on FanFiction.Net, but it can be found on my Lexx  
page at http://www.plutonianshore.net/stories/lexx/lexx.html)  
  
Anyway, as my friends and I were leaving the theater from seeing the Time Machine,  
we of course discussed the movie. This led to me trying to explain that der UberMorlock  
(*snicker*) had nothing to do with the book, but had some similarities to a just plain  
strange "sequel" book published in '79, called "Morlock Night". (Go on, do a search on  
it. You know you want to.) My friends, who have not read the book, declared "Yes, but  
he's Pinhead with hair!" One of those same friends is in the amusing habit of re-naming  
things, and usually refers to Pinhead (Cenobite of Hellraiser fame; also recommended)  
as Needles.  
  
Note that I have issues with the naming of monstrous antagonists. I mean, really.  
Would *you* feel comfortable with walking up to Pinhead and *calling* him that? I  
thought not.  
  
_Anyway,_ a few nights later, as I slaved over my sewing machine, I was reflecting  
upon my newly rekindled fascination with the Time Machine in general  
(and Jeremy Irons - *cough* I mean Morlocks in particular), and I had an epiphany.  
Sortof. I had a mental image of a group of the god-awful silly blue Morlocks from the  
1960 version of the movie, hiding in their dark caves, huddled over their sewing  
machines, making Disney-bright pastel togas for the Eloi. (Because as we all know,  
the Eloi can't lift a finger for themselves. Stupid meat.)  
  
And so the joke concept for the fic started out as  
A Day In The Life Of The Average Morlock.  
  
And then I went to see the new movie again, on a caffine high. And in that moment  
Needle was born.  
  
I don't remember deciding to write from Alexander's point of view; it just sort of  
happened. Maybe it was the allure of getting to use a lot of big words, or maybe it  
was just that I rather like his character - one of the better-portrayed scientists/  
inventors I've seen in a movie. (But still not perfect - a *real* scientist would have  
gone back six or seven times trying to save Emma, before deciding from empirical evidence  
that the past could not be changed. I'm married to a geek and trained in engineering;  
trust me on that one.) And then it was such a lot of fun to write a semi-anthropological  
account that I just couldn't stop. (Also trained in anthropology. Love it. I command you  
to go learn about that, too.)  
  
Don't write, kids.* You'll never get enough sleep if you do.  
  
ANYWAY. So that was how this got started. And then I started having a lot of fun with  
things like chapter titles.  
  
Until the Celebration is the third book in the GreenSky trilogy by Zilpha Keatly  
Snyder. Getting hard to find, but they're quite good. They're also about a vegetarian  
people living a fairly idyllic life, these ones high up in the trees of a distant  
planet, and the mystery concerning the underground carnivorous people trapped below  
the roots of those trees. The other two books are Below the Root, and And All Between.  
  
Riddles in the Dark is the name of the chapter in which Bilbo Baggins meets Gollum in  
the Hobbit. This is me being all mysterious, since that part had little in the way of  
Riddles, but did have a lot of Alexander being in the Dark.  
  
All Summer in a Day is an absolutely fantastic short story about life on Venus by Ray  
Bradbury. Venus is quite damp, see. Worship Mr. Bradbury. Read the story at  
http://www.intermed.it/bradbury/Allsummer.htm  
or go find his anthology "A Medicine for Melancholy".  
(While you're at it... his Halloween Tree is my favorite book. Don't make me  
issue another command...)  
  
Speaker for the Dead is an Ender novel by Orson Scott Card. The second, I think.  
I don't know; I haven't read those yet. I'm lame that way. It was, however, Just  
the Right title.  
  
And Once Upon a Time, of course, is always the beginning of Happily Ever After.  
  
Ye gods, I can't believe I just wrote something as sappy as the above sentence.  
  
Kudos to anybody who catches the Revolutionary Girl Utena reference in part two  
without being told. I'm sorry... I can only write serious for a few paragraphs  
before my tongue starts wandering toward my cheek.  
  
Why yes, I'm a fan of Terry Pratchett as well. Why do you ask?  
  
So that's about it... oh yeah, the SOUNDTRACK. The SOUNDTRACK is all-important to  
me, at least while I'm writing. In lieu of having the actual new movie soundtrack  
(as of writing this, it comes out next Tuesday... sadist people withholding the  
music... grrr), I've been listening to several different Adiemus CD's (1 and 4  
are the best), since they have similar vocals. I've also been leaving my web  
browser turned to the movie site at  
http://www.countingdown.com/timemachine/  
which includes a repeating snippet of the Eloi music at one point.  
Unfortunately, leaving that on for several hours causes mild insanity (obviously),  
and crashes my iMac.  
  
So I've also been listening to Pink Floyd: The Division Bell, particularly the  
songs "Coming Back to Life" and "Keep Talking". Good stuff.  
  
That's all. Finally.  
If you've seen the movie, check out the nifty Breadbox Edition on FanFiction.net,  
written by author Evadne.  
(If you haven't seen the new movie and have reached this point, you're probably  
confused. Go see the movie.)  
If you've seen the 1960 movie, check out Theed's story "The Journey Back", also  
at FanFiction.net. Yay!  
  
Oh yeah, I should probably state somewhere that I lay no claim on the Time Machine  
story/characters/settings/etc. in any incarnation, and I'm only playing with them  
as a personal comment, which constitutes Fair Use.  
  
The End. Really.  
  
-Starherd  
03/21/02  
now, back to my sewing machine...  
  
  
* = You should not take to heart the noted sentence any more than you should  
believe certain high-ranking Morlocks claiming that they don't bite. 


End file.
